


Story With A Corset

by epkitty



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Corsetry, Crossdressing, Fisting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-07
Updated: 2011-03-06
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epkitty/pseuds/epkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he’s not ruling Imladris or governing the weather there or worrying about his family, Elrond’s main hobby is matchmaking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> After sitting for a semester making a corset for Costume Crafts class, I couldn’t stop myself from writing this. The first two songs Erestor sings are based on the traditional ‘Erin Gra mo Chroi’ and ‘The Ash Grove,’ respectively. The last song he sings is the traditional ‘Thoir Dhohm do Lamh.’ The Nodnyth are inspired be the geishas of Japan, the ulas of Samoa, and the erastes of ancient Greece. Also, kudos to those who pick up on the Eddie Izzard quotes.

Elrond had been living in Imladris for four thousand years. For half that time, he’d been married. In the middle of it, he’d gone off to join the war against evil. But for all of it, he’d been engaged in his favorite hobby.

Elrond was a matchmaker. He couldn’t stand to see people lonely in love, and often took matters in hand himself to make sure no one was lonely for too long. He’d conducted underhanded means all his life to bring together those who were simply meant to be.

When Galadriel caught him arranging matches between the sentries in her Wood, she told him – in an ethereal non-direct sort of way – not to stop, because he had the gift of knowing what lives in an Elf’s heart, as she did herself. The Half-Elf interpreted this as approval and, indeed, encouragement.

But for all the happy weddings, hand-fastings, and joining ceremonies he – in some way – had a hand in, he still had not achieved his ultimate success. For four thousand years, he’d been watching them. And interfering as subtly as he could in their lives. But still, nothing Elrond tried had awakened any acknowledgement of love between Glorfindel and Erestor.

= = = = =

He was sure it was there. Celebrian, who had spent all their married life shaking her head at Elrond’s foremost hobby, had always discouraged him of this particular match. “There’s no basis for it,” she had told him. “Not in their looks or in their words or in their ways.”

Elrond took to heart what Celebrian said, and he had to agree. In their actions together, there was little affection. In their words to one another, there was no sign of flirtation. And in their few exchanged glances, there was nothing of love.

Still, Elrond persisted. It was true that there was naught to be seen between them, but there was still much hidden in their hearts, hearts that Elrond knew as well as his own. He had watched their first courteous meeting on the grey steps of his home, the quiet way in which they accepted one another in Council, their silent sharing of meals, their gentle association in the morning walks and afternoon teas and evening discussions. Elrond saw all of this and knew that something buried deeper wanted to surface. But these two quietly stubborn Elves refused it.

Elrond decided to forgo subtlety.

“Glorfindel,” he said one day. “I am glad you have made a home here, and found good friends. But nothing can replace a family. Are you not lonely?”

“You mean lonely in love?” Glorfindel asked, smiling gently at the Half-Elf he had accepted as his Lord. “I know your intentions, and whoever it is, I’ll have none of it.”

“What do you find so discouraging?” Elrond asked him.

“I am content as I am,” Glorfindel had answered. “I have no wish for love, nor the baggage that comes with it.”

That had sounded a bit bitter to Elrond’s ears, but since Glorfindel had up and left at that moment, he could advance the conversation no further.

So, ever persistent, Elrond tried the same tactics on his Chief Counselor.

“Erestor,” he said one day. “I am glad you have made a home here, and found good friends. But nothing can replace a family. Are you not lonely?”

“One who has friends is never lonely,” he had easily replied. “And I have my fill of them, whether I want to or not.”

“Well, that is good,” Elrond told him. “But even friends cannot give us everything we desire.”

Erestor had rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his Lord. “Whom do you intend to lock me in a room with?” he asked. “No, don’t tell me. Just don’t do it. Elrond, I’ve no need of love. I am old and content in life. Why would I want to disrupt that now?”

Again, he left before Elrond could say anything more.

= = = = =

As content as they claimed they were, Elrond thought they deserved happiness. Happiness was achieved by love. And love, for these two, was only a matter of time and strategy.

Elrond was careful in his planning, taking his idea from Erestor himself. Never had he had to delve to such devious measures in his meddling. First, he waited for Celebrian to depart again for the Golden Wood to reunite with her parents and friends and home. Then, he got Lindir on his side. Lindir had been Elrond’s henchman in many a match, and though he – like Celebrian – was uncertain of this particular pairing, the Master Minstrel was always willing to lend a hand in his Lord’s mischief.

It was Elrond who convinced Glorfindel and Erestor to go to the wine cellar together to choose the proper libation for the twins’ birthday celebration and it was Lindir who ensured they were accidentally locked in. Lindir also ensured that no one heard the calls for help. Lindir also spied on them.

After they had been locked in for five hours, the Master Minstrel snuck up to Elrond’s office to report.

The Lord was happily anxious about what progress had been made. “Well?” he demanded.

Lindir sat heavily opposite him at the desk. “I am sorry, my Lord,” he said. “They spent the first hour without realizing they were locked in. They spent the second hour shouting for help and attempting to pick the lock. Erestor talked Glorfindel out of trying to break down the door. Then, they played chess.”

“Chess?”

“Indeed. In their heads. Then, Erestor decided to make use of his time while he was down there.”

“Doing what, precisely?”

Lindir sighed. “Taking inventory.”

“And Glorfindel?”

“Helping him, Sir.”

Elrond sighed heavily. “Well, that’s enough for today, I suppose. Do go let them out, would you?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

= = = = =

Later, Glorfindel and Erestor would chuckle together about the time they were locked in the wine cellar for eight hours. (Lindir was not always prompt.) But the incident was quickly forgotten.

Elrond waited for some time, watching intently the couple he was sure was meant to be together, before deciding on any further action.

Life went on as it had with little change in the valley sanctuary.

Elrond knew that the two Elves would often sit in Glorfindel’s chambers in the evenings. The Lord took a chance, using a rooftop route to gain access to that particular balcony. He cowered concealed there for hours, eavesdropping.

The Captain and the Counselor sat upon the two chairs placed before the fire, which crackled sharply in the late fall evening. The chairs were rich, but elegant, as were all of Glorfindel’s furnishings. They drank from wide-rimmed glasses, pouring occasionally from the bottle between them. Their words together were soft. Elrond had witnessed this before – this personal speech between them – but he was always charmed by it. Glorfindel was usually so loud and brusque, Erestor so gruff and curt. But to one another, it was always calm and gentle voices. Their words were sometimes derogatory, but teasing was common enough between friends. What they discussed, however, Elrond could barely stand.

“You think the new schedule has improved your roster rotation?” Erestor asked quietly.

“Aye, much improved,” Glorfindel answered with a gentle smile. “You were correct, and I thank you for your help.”

“Anytime, of course.”

It was as though they were performing some courtship tradition as yet unknown to society in which the goal was to never actually achieve marriage, but only allude to it. Elrond had never witnessed anything so aggravating.

“I’m going to have a few extra hours to fill tomorrow. Could I assist you with anything, Erestor?”

The Counselor thought a moment. “If your penmanship has improved, you might transcribe a few letters for me.”

Glorfindel again gave him a small and gentle smile. “That I can do.”

It was all Elrond could do to hold himself back from running in and telling them to just relinquish their ancient fears and habits and declare their undying love.  
 But of course he didn’t.

After all, these things must be allowed to take their course.

= = = = =

Over time, Elrond supposed Glorfindel and Erestor had grown a little more flirtatious, but only in comparison to the friendship they’d maintained the first thousand years. Any outsider would never describe their interaction as playful or coy.

But, as usual, Elrond was convinced it was there.

In order to lighten things up a bit, he set Glorfindel and Erestor a task together, one which he thought might bring them closer and encourage them to leave their adopted role set behind them. As ordered, Lindir disappeared for a time, and Elrond summoned the Captain and Counselor to his office.


	2. The Threshing

As cool and observant as Imladris’ Captain and Counselor considered themselves to be, it should be surprising that they never allowed themselves to realize that Elrond, the consummate matchmaker, was continually trying to push them into one another’s arms.

As it was, perhaps they were too intent on one another to notice. Yes, too intent to notice how careful they always were in regards to one another, to never go too far with their mild jokes, to work so hard to maintain a professional courtesy and easy friendship so consistently throughout the centuries.

As Elrond had always perceived, it would take only time for that careful balance to overbalance.

And it began with this tricky ploy, carefully executed.

The pair stood in Elrond’s office, sitting warily once the Lord indicated they should do so. “Lindir is off on some pilgrimage, so we are in need of a Master of Revels for the Threshing Festival,” he told them, “and I thought it might be an opportunity for the two of you to work on something different, maybe fun.”

For a moment, the pair just stared blankly at him. “Together?” Glorfindel wondered.

“Yes.”

“You want us to be Masters of Ceremony?” Erestor asked, as though he hadn’t understood.

“Aye, exactly. Things are quiet in Imladris these days; I don’t see either of you working on anything particularly pressing. And without Lindir here, I can’t imagine a pair better suited to undertake this duty. Erestor, you’re directorial skills are beyond question and Glorfindel, when it comes to accomplishing such arduous tasks, I can think of none better. Are we settled?”

Guarded glances passed between the Elves, but they agreed, if only to please their Lord.

= = = = =

A few days later, Glorfindel and Erestor were sitting together in their shared office, a place unidentifiable as such for it appeared to be more of a miniature library, with a great collection of liquor in a nearby cabinet and a wall of curtained windows to let in the air. Like Glorfindel’s private quarters, this was a place often inhabited together by the Captain and the Counselor. They worked habitually in mutual silence at the pair of desks there, or quietly debating their usual fare of politics, art, and philosophy.

Having been assigned the task of organizing the Threshing Festival for that harvest season, they were attempting to sort through Lindir’s old papers.

“Where did you get these?” Glorfindel asked after an hour or so of attempting to make sense of the scrawled schedules and contacts and calendars.

After a moment, Erestor replied off-handedly, “Did you know that Lindir actually has an office?”

Glorfindel ceased his affairs, stilling as motionless as a statue, and slowly looked up across the room. “What did you do?” he asked deliberately, word by word.

Erestor shrugged nonchalantly. “I helped organize a few things.”

Letting escape a small chuckle, Glorfindel said, “Poor Lindir. When he returns . . .” he let the sentence drift off. He looked again to Erestor. “He’s not going to be able to find anything, is he?”

Again, Erestor shrugged. “All he has to do is adapt to the filing method; it’ll be fine.”

“YOUR filing method?” Glorfindel laughed. “It’s a wonder _I_ can find anything in this place, and I’ve been working with you for millennia.” He shook his head. “Poor Lindir.”

= = = = =

Months later, the whole of the Valley was assembled on the flattened field of stone and dirt that sat like a bowl at the bottom of a circular slope of a hill, not far from the river north of the main House. This great threshing floor had been beaten down over the course of countless years and Erestor sat halfway up the rising slope of green grass, watching as the Elves threw armfuls of hay to the huge, open floor wider than ten training yards together. They beat the trunks of grain like a great fan or stamped on it and the gentle wind from the river carried away the light stems, the heavy seeds lying there on the floor, waiting to be collected.

Drummers were aligned outside the main circle, and the farmers were still bringing in wagons of grain to the amphitheatre, where the younger Elves enthusiastically carried the grain to the field. Some who were older and less interested in the physical tasks sat, like Erestor, watching on the slopes. Arwen and several handmaidens sang the ancient songs of harvest while the masses still beat out the seeds from the stalks to the constant accompaniment of booming drums.

Glorfindel was among them, having tossed away his shirt like many of the men under the high sun, but then they took a break to let the elflings scamper across, sweeping away leftover stalks. Glorfindel climbed the distance to Erestor to flop beside him in the grass, breathing heavy, his golden chest heaving, blond hair sticking to his back in damp swirls.

Away up the hill, Elrond curiously watched.

“Will you not join us on the floor this year, Erestor?” the golden Elf asked as he pillowed his head on a lazy arm, staring up to his friend.

Erestor did not look at him, focusing instead on the distant threshing floor, where the strongest Elves were laying out more grain from bales hefted atop strong shoulders. “I am not wearing appropriate attire. Besides, I must leave soon to attend the kitchens and dining hall.”

“Always so concerned with duty!” Glorfindel shook his head. “You are a great observer of tradition, Erestor. Why do you never take part?”

“Usually because I am in charge of it,” Erestor answered, a smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Come now,” he said, standing and holding out a hand to assist Glorfindel to his feet. “You are not typically full of such nonsense. But I will see you later and we shall drink a toast together for the sake of the harvest.”

Glorfindel smiled radiantly. “I look forward to it.”

= = = = =

Now, although Celebrian often avoided her husband’s diversions, preferring not to get involved in the personal lives of others, the Peredhil children had discovered their father’s favored pastime and, like Lindir, frequently aided in his pursuits. But of them all, Arwen was surely the most interested and talented, having already arranged several matches on her own, even at such a young age. And long had she, too, been witness to her father’s machinations involving the Captain and Counselor. All during the Threshing Festival she stayed close to Elrond’s side, both of them watching like hawks the first spark-like connection flaring between the longtime friends.

And when the stamping and drumming were done, the Elves left the field in a streaming embarkation to the House, leaving behind them a grain-strewn floor where they would return the next day to collect the seeds, the wind having blown the lighter debris away.

In the meantime, they converged on the dining hall. Like Glorfindel, many made a brief detour to the rushing river, growing colder in the coming fall, to bathe away the day’s work. But as soon as the sun was firmly set, the table was too, and they all gathered round the boards heavily laden with boar and stag and potatoes and green squash, all rich and savory and steaming. Later would come the song and dance; first came the feast.

As was traditional, Glorfindel and Erestor sat side by side, but they were both more subdued than normal, although that wasn’t saying much on Erestor’s account. They ate their meal in relative silence, exchanging only a few words and laughs with each other and those they sat beside.

Shifting glances passed between them, as did nervous smiles.

They were not the first such glances and smiles, but they were the first to be noticed by the likes of Elrond. Who grinned maniacally throughout the rest of the evening.

After the long meal, when the sun was long gone and the wine was flowing free, they all stepped aside and the tables were marched away, leaving the extensive hall open for dancing. The minstrels assembled to one side of the long fireplace, which crackled tall and bright in the cooling night.

Heads turned to Elrond, who traditionally announced the first song of the evening on feast nights. The Lord turned to Erestor, who had just begun retreating into the crowd. “Will you grace us with a song, Erestor?” he declared. “So rarely do we have the pleasure.”

Heads turned to face the Chief Counselor, who glared harshly at his Lord. But then Arwen stepped forward and spoke, “Oh yes please, Erestor! My father is right: we have not had the pleasure in such a long time. I would dearly love to hear your voice raised in song this eve!”

The Half-Elven Lord smiled at the chagrined expression on Erestor’s pale and shadowed face. The quiet Elf might – on occasion – say no to Elrond, but he couldn’t say no to Arwen.

Erestor stepped into the firelight and bowed to the slightly raised dias where Arwen sat beside her father. “Anything,” he said kindly, “for the little princess.”

Arwen smiled brilliantly at the name Erestor had called her since childhood. “Thank you, my Champion,” she said, her quiet voice flying out over the heads of all to ring throughout the hall.

Glorfindel turned to the Elf beside him, shocked to see that it was Lindir. “Lindir?” he whispered, confused. “I thought you—”

“I returned early.” The Master Minstrel shot him a winning smile.

Eyes dancing from Erestor to Arwen and back to Lindir, Glorfindel said, “I’ve never heard Erestor sing.”

Lindir leaned up to quietly answer. “He only ever sang to send the little princess to sleep. Often when you were out on patrol in the evening. And sometimes in the early morning in the Wood. He does not like crowds such as this though. A wonder he said yes.”

Glorfindel’s lips curved slowly into a smile and he wisely said, “He always says yes to the little princess.”

All eyes turned to Erestor, standing silhouetted by the great fire, gleaming copper on his pale, smooth skin and lighting up his hair like the sunset. He nervously clasped his hands before him, but calmed when he turned to gaze upon Arwen, who smiled encouragingly.

His eyes remained locked on her as he began to sing, deep and measured and dauntingly beautiful, gradually filling up the great hall with his ethereal voice, the words so slow they blended together in a sound of enchanting splendor.

“In the evening sun when my daily work is done  
Sure I close my eyes, dreaming of a kiss  
And being all alone, I sit down upon a stone  
For to gaze on the scenes of Imladris.

“Oh then Rivendell, you’re greater than I can tell.  
You’re the sight I long for every dawn  
You’re the bright star of the west, you’re the land our Lord has blessed  
You’re the dear little Home I miss when I am gone.

“`Twas on a cold, cold winter’s night with the turf fire burning bright  
And the snow fallen on a Mirkwood winter’s day   
And being all alone, I sat down on my own  
Dreaming of this dear little Home so far away.

“Oh then Rivendell, you’re grander than I call tell.  
You’re the place that wanderers always find  
You’re the bright star of the west, you’re the land our Lord has blessed  
You’re the dear little Home so warm and kind.

“The day that we did part, sure it broke my mother’s heart  
Will I ever see my dear folks anymore?  
Not until I leave for the cold and silent sea  
And forsake this dear little Home to reach the shore.

“Oh then Rivendell, you’re more than I can tell  
You’re the fairest that my eyes did ere behold  
You’re the bright star of the west, you’re the land our Lord has blessed,  
You’re the Home I’ll leave behind me when I go.”

Glorfindel stood, enthralled, his deep blue eyes tearing up with sorrow and gladness at the song so full of both. And he watched his dear friend, beautiful and solemn in the deepening night surrounded by the glittering light of the fire as his deep and sure voice filled the hall with melancholy bliss.

Many were moved to tears by the regretful song of their Home, their House, and the future they all knew awaited. Even Elrond’s eyes were not dry as he led the sincere applause for Erestor’s moving chant. Then the modest Counselor bowed gracefully, if a little nervously, and quickly strode back into the crowd, accepting the praise of the people he encountered. But Erestor came to a halt before Glorfindel, who was staring down at him with expressionless blue eyes.

For a moment, they both halted, motionless and staring, before Glorfindel held out a glass to Erestor, who took it. They clinked their wine glasses together, their eyes never straying. “To a harvest of plenty,” Erestor lowly intoned.

“To a hymn of beauty,” Glorfindel answered in a similar rumble.

They drank the deep, dark wine and the moment broke as Lindir scampered across the open hall with arms outspread and the people cheered their Master Minstrel, who took up a lute and filled the hall with music.

= = = = =

Late into the evening the revelers celebrated the season’s threshing, the successful harvest, and the coming winter. Glorfindel danced a little and Erestor danced less. Though, as previously demonstrated, the dignified Counselor could refuse nothing to the beautiful young maiden who he had always called the little princess. Arwen sought a dance in her Champion’s arms, and he elegantly led them down the floor in a light-footed and quick reel.

Watching from the crowd, Glorfindel surveyed the handsome couple affectionately. He was oblivious to the quiet presence at his side until Elladan spoke. “Tell me again, Glorfindel, why does my sister call Erestor her Champion? I do not recall.”

Glorfindel fell into the storytelling, barely aware that he did so, even knowing as he did that the sons of Elrond knew the story perfectly well. A twin on either side of him listened, and they observed Glorfindel, openly staring at the subjects of his story.

“A long time ago when Arwen was a young girl, she was a very curious, but very quiet youngster. The monotony of her mother’s life bored her. The dynamic court life of her father intimidated her. I, with my height and my weapons and boisterous manner, frightened her. The Minstrels overwhelmed her. The kitchen staff teased her.

“But in our office, she found a refuge. So rarely was I there, and it was big and quiet and Erestor let her hide under the desk. At first, he ignored her many questions and tried to persuade her back to her mother and her embroidery. But Arwen would have none of it, and she insisted on going over all the many history books in his possession, especially those with maps. Arwen was fascinated by maps; she couldn’t get enough of them. In Arwen, Erestor found the pupil he had lacked in Elrond’s sons, and it was common to find the girl and the Counselor secluded in the linen closet near the Lady’s quarters with a beeswax candle their only light, turning the great pages of a giant atlas together. She would ask him all about those places she’d never seen and he would tell her about those that he’d been to and the great deeds that he had witnessed there.

“Throughout this time, the girl and the Counselor grew close, some say closer than she was to any of her family, and she grew to love him as such. But no matter how she pressed, Erestor would not allow her to call him ‘uncle.’ She tried all sorts of affectionate names, like she had given to all her family, but Erestor refused each one.

“One day, when the family arranged a picnic to the riverside meadow, Arwen insisted that her new friend and tutor come along as well. So Erestor trailed them with a basket on his arm, but when they laid out the blankets that afternoon, it was maps that he withdrew, and Arwen sat beside him studying the curving lines of mountain and stream and forest on the folding parchment. But, as children often do, she eventually wearied of the study, and having spotted a distant animal in the trees, she jumped up to follow it.

“Fearing for the lone child’s safety, Erestor gathered up his robes and stood, trailing her into the forest. Arwen tracked the animal to the edge of the Bruinen, where she lost it. But being a child and a curious one, she was quickly fascinated by the river and the life it gave to the land.

“But she was careless as she leant over to try to see her reflection in a small swirl of water pooling along the bank. She still carried one of Erestor’s precious maps, and it fell from where she’d tucked it in the purple sash of her robes and into the river, where it swirled away downstream.

“Terrified of getting into trouble, Arwen toed off her slippers and ran down the bank. She climbed on a tree that had fallen into the waters, hoping to grab the map as the rapids carried it by. But the fallen tree betrayed her and she fell into the cold and rushing waters of the Bruinen.

“Living as she had all her life in a Valley House, Arwen knew very well how to swim, but the gown she wore weighed her down and she was pulled under the surface of the swift current.

“Erestor was not far behind her and had seen what had happened. He threw off his robe and kicked off his shoes and dived in after her. He fought the strength of the water and worked fiercely to dive under the surface to grab hold of the girl. He pulled her head above the water and they struggled together to shore, where she lay crying in his arms, full of fear and relief.

“Erestor had long understood the girl’s need for silence, and he said nothing until she had calmed and stilled in his arms. ‘Little princess,’ he told her. ‘I am glad you are safe, but you should never again risk yourself in such a careless way. Your life is far greater than any trifle fallen into the River.’

“‘I understand,’ she answered him, and they stood and retrieved their shoes and Erestor’s robe and walked hand in hand back to the meadow. Celebrian cried out at the sight of her daughter, wet and shaking, and Arwen told her family what had happened and she declared that Erestor was precious to her for he had saved her and she did not know a proper name to call him for it. Elrond told her that Erestor had been her Champion. She had heard this word before and she agreed that it was appropriate.

“Forever since has Erestor been Arwen’s Champion, and she, his little princess.”

Glorfindel and the twins then watched in silence as the Princess and her Champion danced.

= = = = =

Elrond very much approved of the direction that particular evening had taken.

Unfortunately, the interaction that he had reveled in observing appeared to be a one-time occasion, for the next day there was no sign of such affection between the Captain and the Counselor. Nor in the weeks after.

And so the Lord of the Valley again resumed his plotting.


	3. The Journey

Elrond’s next machination was years in the planning. Years to ensure that the next diplomatic meeting between The Golden Wood and Rivendell would take place in Lorien and would coincide with the high patrol season of the Imladris Guard. So it was that Erestor, Glorfindel, and Lindir set out themselves on the journey across the mountains.

= = = = =

Lindir, being a minstrel and therefore less valued than Captains or Counselors, took it upon himself to take leave of them just as they approached the slopes of the mountains, to join a small caravan of human traders heading south to the Gap of Rohan rather than crossing the treacherous Misty Mountains.

Nothing Glorfindel or Erestor said could convince the stubborn Minstrel to stay with the two of them, and Lindir promised to join them again when he reached the eastern side of the, as he called them, ‘snowy hills.’

Alone, the Captain and the Counselor forged ahead, carefully leading their mounts up into the summer snows.

= = = = =

The journey, for the most part, was quiet. They complained for sometime about the loss of Lindir, instead of simply admitting they were worried about him, and then they traveled in silence.

Silence was easy for them. Despite their friendly conversations, the Captain and Counselor were also simply content in their occasionally wordless camaraderie. And so long had they known one another and having traveled together before that they crossed the whole of the snows without a word passed between. In the evenings, they slept side by side between the warm and heavy horses and in the day they stepped lightly on the snow, helping the horses along.

Finally, as they descended into the greenery of the eastern side of the mountains, they spoke again. Glorfindel asked what manner of diplomatic discussion was required for this visit to the Wood and how long it would take, and how long Erestor expected they would have to wait for Lindir’s appearance, for the reckless minstrel was taking a far longer route. They agreed to spend some time with Celebrian, who had resided the several years past there with her parents. They talked of other things as well; perhaps lessened concern about the dangers of the snows had loosened their tongues.

= = = = =

Leaving their horses free on the land, fleet-footed they crossed the singing Nimrodel across a silver rope and entered the realm of the Lord and Lady.

There was something timeless, something eternal about the Golden Wood, as though no evil could ever penetrate this place that never changed. The pace of life somehow seemed slower, less complex. It was no wonder Celebrian could lose herself here in the peaceful serenity she had grown up amongst for such lengthy periods of time.  
 Compared to this, Imladris was a land full of hurry and bustle, and crowded and restless and loud it was.

Glorfindel and Erestor rarely left the Haven in the Valley, but when they reached the Golden Wood, they could share the silent appreciation of the place. It was a respite in many ways, even if Erestor had come on a mission and Glorfindel had been his escort.

Celeborn was slow to greet them, as so many things in Lothlorien seemed slow, and the weeks began to pass with little notice. Erestor’s diplomatic visit was little more than just that. Neither he nor Celeborn really had much to say and neither particularly knew why Elrond had insisted on such a conference, though Celeborn fancied he could take a guess.

In the mean time, Glorfindel and Erestor sat oftentimes in the evening visiting with Celebrian and telling her much of what had transpired in Rivendell in the past years and especially of her family. They also had friends and acquaintances of other sorts among the folk who dwelt in the Wood. Glorfindel called upon those who had marched beside him on Dagorlad Plain, and Erestor sat for hours with those who had sat beside him in the high Councils of centuries past.

Eventually, songs that pervaded the air from the white entrance gate announced the arrival of Imladris’ Master Minstrel and many were anxious to greet Lindir, for his fame had grown quickly among the Elves of Middle Earth. He was a welcome guest in any hall, home, or court.

That evening, a host gathered among the lowest telain in the center of the tree city to hear Lindir’s song.

Afterwards, the Lady herself sat with Lindir in what could be called the throne room and she welcomed him formally and thanked him for sharing his gift even after such a long journey and he told her humbly that he was glad and he also told her, “If you enjoy my singing, you should hear Erestor. I may have skill, but he has talent. I feel truly blessed whenever I am granted the pleasure of hearing him.”

Galadriel smiled. “I am shocked to hear such a thing. I would never have guessed. Neither my daughter nor granddaughter has ever spoken of it.”

“Well,” Lindir confided, “unlike myself, your worthy progeny have an appreciation for privacy. Erestor does not like to share his skill with others. I am not sure why. But he would always sing for Arwen.”

Galadriel nodded. “I always knew the two were close.” She grinned prettily. “And you think it a shame for Erestor’s inherent talent to go unappreciated.”

Lindir smiled winningly. “Precisely, my Lady. You have it, precisely.”

= = = = =

The Counselor found a quiet moment to himself in a small glade just removed from the main thoroughfare of the city where the streams broke off and burbled into little brooks amid white stones and grassy banks. The mellyrn towered over him and he felt happily solitary, despite the many telain away somewhere high above him.

For the moment, he was content on a long stone bench just beside a miniature gully where grew a great many green leafy plants and brilliantly colored flowers.

Along the worn path of white stones, two figures solemnly came. Both were tall with flaxen hair, wearing long gowns belted with silver and gold. One wore colors of the midnight sky and a mithril crown. The other, less tall but no less beautiful, was sheathed in hues of twilight and a mithril circlet shone at her brow.

Galadriel and Celebrian smiled and sat, one on either side of the dark-haired Elf on the smooth stone bench at the edge of a quietly gorgeous gully at dusk.

Erestor knew he was in for it.

“My somber Counselor,” the Wise Lady began. “I have only recently begun hearing tales of the splendor of your voice.”

Erestor, oh so slowly, turned to glare at the Lady’s daughter. Celebrian’s eyes were wide and innocent. Her smile was not. “I see,” he answered, facing the queen of the Wood once more. “I fear these tales are greatly exaggerated.”

She laughed, bell-like and sincere. “I do not think so. Would you sing for us, Erestor, at table tomorrow?”

“I will, if you ask it of me,” he told her, for who would refuse a witch?

“I do,” Galadriel approved.

= = = = =

The next evening, Glorfindel and Lindir sat side by side at the dinner table. One was decidedly more surprised than the other when Erestor stood at the opening of the meal. Again, the Counselor raised his clear, deep voice to the air and all were held in thrall.

“Down yonder Gold Wood where streamlets meander  
When twilight is fading, I pensively rove,  
Or at the bright noontide in solitude wander  
A-mid the gray shades of the vast mellyrn grove  
Twas here while the blackbird was joyfully singing  
I learned that the earth held a place in my heart  
Around me for gladness the bluebells were ringing  
Ah! Then little thought I how soon we should part.

“Still glows the bright sunshine o’er valley and mountain,  
Still warbles the blackbird his note from the tree;  
Still trembles the moonbeam on streamlet and fountain,  
But what are the beauties of nature to me?  
With sorrow, deepest sorrow, my bosom is drawn  
All day I go mourning, and find I no rest.  
Ye echoes, O tell me, where has my sweet home gone?  
The sea beckons soft, calling us homeward west.”

It was a short song but a sad one, for he sang it slow and lovely and with such deep soul and feeling the crowd was moved to shocked silence. And he sat at the astounded and mournful applause, trying not to look at anyone, but especially not at Glorfindel.

= = = = =

All through the mild winter the three Elves of Imladris remained guests in the Wood, but Erestor never again acquiesced to sing there. Mostly, Lindir performed in the evenings, and the Captain and Counselor spent their time in quiet companionship as they always had. But still Glorfindel wondered at the mystery of Erestor’s songs.

As the months fell away and summer came round once more, Celebrian announced that it was time for her to rejoin her family in the Valley. So it was not a motley troop of three that exited the Wood at the dawning of the summer, but a host of Galadhrim surrounding a beautiful lady trailed by a motley troop of three.

= = = = =

And when the gates of Imladris appeared, a multitude of bright and shining Elves awaited them and sang the glories of their Lady, and also greetings to the Elves of Lothlorien, and also renewed welcome to the return of their Minstrel, their Captain, and their Counselor.

Elrond and his children embraced Celebrian heartily and Arwen walked arm in arm with her mother while Lindir and Elrond slipped away to discuss the ‘situation.’

Erestor and Glorfindel were simply glad to be home and Erestor sang under his breath. “You’re the bright star of the west, you’re the land our Lord has blessed. You’re the dear little Home I miss when I am gone.”

= = = = =

“It is time,” Lindir whispered to his Lord, “to make our final move.”

“And you’ve a plot?” Elrond asked with excitement.

“No,” Lindir began.

They were interrupted by a voice behind them. “But I do.”

“My Celebrian?” Elrond queried with wonder.

“You have been right these many years,” she told him with a grin. “But until I heard Erestor’s voice raised in song and saw the way Glorfindel watched him I did not believe you.”

Elrond embraced her again and stood back to smile upon her. “And you’ve a plot.”

“I have.”


	4. The Plot

The Elves of Imladris gathered in the great Courtyard, looking up with expectation to the high balcony where stood the Lord and Lady of the Valley, their children arrayed beside them and the House’s advisors in a line behind them. Glorfindel, at the head of the crowd below, also looked avidly up, for this was the moment Celebrian was to announce a secret much whispered of in the halls.

She stepped forward to smile at the people. She told them, “Too long have we dwelt in the idle, simple splendor of this Age; often forgotten are the times that have gone before. History we learn by heart, but the times we have forgot. In remembrance of the eras in which we were born and raised and lived and worked, three years hence our Midsummer Feast shall be a Masque!”

The crowd cheered in anticipation and when they quieted, Celebrian spoke again. “Wear not your common robes and evening dress, but seek now your memories of styles long past, of ages gone, and of fashions forgot. Seek the fabrics of your dreams to craft for yourselves a tribute to days gone by! Let us all remind the youths of the elegance, the decadence, the foolery, the grace, the craziness, and the complexities of our own youth. Let us have a ball, a dance, a Masque of our Memoirs!”

A cry went up among the people. So rare were ideas this self-indulgent, so uncommon of their simple-seeming Home that they longed at once for this wild idea as a release and repast and a remembrance. Long and loud they cheered, and happy.  
 Glorfindel looked up to the balcony and sought Erestor’s eyes. They shared worried glances, yet knowing there was little to be done.

= = = = =

The months flew by in Imladris, and the residents were all a’ tizzy about the upcoming event. The tailors had been informed long beforehand about the costume ball, and their stock of fabrics had never been so rich nor varied. Everyone’s talk seemed to revolve around the Midsummer Feast ‘three years hence.’

And it was not long before uninvited guests began turning up at the door to Erestor and Glorfindel’s office. People knew that Erestor was the greatest historian in Imladris, perhaps greater than any other in Middle Earth, and that if there was information that could not be found in the library, it might be lurking on an innocent shelf in his collection. He wearily invited these trespassers in to allow them browse through the books he had amassed regarding Elven fashion. Many had illustrations, sketches of times and styles that had gone before and those especially who had been born in the third age were fascinated.

Erestor had never had such a progression of young ones in and out of his humble, private realm, and Glorfindel delighted in watching his mild frustration. Tittering maidens and callow youths cowered even as they begged his help.

Those old as himself also visited, and they quietly reminisced.

“I can hardly believe I ever wore those!”

“Can you imagine it lasted over a century?”

“Those shoes! We must have been mad!”

“Well, it certainly wasn’t comfortable; I remember that much.”

“That was actually a fashion! It looks more like a torture!”

“No. I definitely wasn’t around for that one.”

“My mother would do that to her hair; I was so embarrassed.”

“Who would even conceive of such a thing?”

“Ridiculous!”

“Brilliant!”

“Insane!”

Glorfindel watched them come and go and he shook his head at the folly. When they were alone, Erestor did likewise, though he tried to encourage those who came to him for help.

Glorfindel spent one of the quieter days watching Erestor and Arwen, who sat side by side with their heads bowed together pouring over a book filled with sketches of gowns. All day they spent at it and Arwen finally made her selection, thanking her Champion for his aid.

Then came the twins.

Glorfindel also watched Elladan and Elrohir, who sat on the floor of the office with stacks of discarded books towered around them. The Captain had the sneaking suspicion that they were giggling over the pictures that displayed more of the body than the clothes on it.

But eventually the sons of Elrond arose from their search to lay several open books on the desk before Erestor.

“What?” he gruffly demanded.

The twins knelt so that they were looking up imploringly at the annoyed Counselor. “We want something wild,” one of them began.

“Intense.”

“Different.”

“Fierce.”

“Daring.”

“And a little dark.”

Erestor sighed and pulled up the pictures they had chosen. “You have here amassed quite a selection.”

“We aren’t sure what’s most appropriate.”

Erestor eyed the twin that had spoken. It became more and more difficult to tell the two apart as they grew older. “I thought the whole idea was to be inappropriate,” he answered drolly.

“Not inappropriate,” the other clarified. “Just shocking.”

“I see,” Erestor answered. “Impressive. Unique.”

“Exactly.”

Erestor looked over what they had laid before him. “Did you bother to read the captions?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

They shook their heads no.

Pointing successively at each one, Erestor informed them, “This never existed; it was from a story. That was popular among the tavern whores of Numenor. This one is actually a woman. And this last was worn solely by the hard laborers in the ship-harbors of Lindon.” He stood from his chair and shuffled around a few books behind his desk. Finally he laid out a drawing upon the mahogany surface of the desk. “This was a transitory fashion among the warriors who survived the wars that ended the First Age.” He pointed to various parts of the sketch as he spoke. “They wore these leather boots with pounded leaf designs and then embossed them with an early composite of copper and brass. The legs were bare but for a short skirt of crenellated panels: leather, with plating of something like iron and tin. The breastplate was only four overlapping pieces, designed to fit close to the body. It was decorated with the Captain’s standard or House insignia of the warrior. The helmet was more decorative than functional. Instead of a plume, there was this scythe-like extension, and the cheek guards were always sharpened thusly. The interesting part is here,” he pointed along the arms and legs. “Any exposed skin was temporarily decorated by sewing mithril beads into the skin with fine thread. It sparkled like stars on their flesh and was intimidating, for it hurt of course. A constant echo of pain in the warrior. They were frightening and primitive.”

The twins exchanged looks of glee and nodded in silent agreement. Then they turned curiously back to Erestor. “But,” one of them added, “we also had a question about this.” And he held forth a carefully rendered image.   
 Erestor took the book in gentle hands and looked down at the tangle of youthful bodies. “The Nodnyth?” one of the twins asked. “Who were they?” The question was full of intrigue.

Less reverent, but more eager spoke the other twin. “Did they really bind their bodies like that? Why? Who in their right mind would wear corsets?”

Erestor stared at them, amazed. And reluctant. But when he saw the twins actually interested in history for what was the first time in their lives, Erestor succumbed to the story telling. “The dawning of the Second Age began something of a sexual revolution among our kind,” he began, laying down the book to study the image as he spoke.

He sat at the desk and leafed through the illustrations. “Times were dark and uncertain. Twas newly after the founding of Eregion and the wealth of mithril there that this revolution reached its height and a unique and short-lived social class emerged. As the courts settled and the prosperous Elves sought diversion from the dark years behind and yet afore them, the youth rebelled against the strict and conservative rules of the time, rules meant only to protect them. And from a long-held concept of courtly love displayed by chin chucks and small furry animals, a lust-ridden fog enveloped the high classes. Ideal beauty was tempting and tantalizing and highly sexualized. Especially among the youth. The body and not the spirit was worshiped and the form that became mysterious and desirable was androgynous or hermaphroditic; it was a blending or blurring of the sexes. In a mass of veiled and perfumed Elves, the most prized was the youth unidentifiable as male or female. Those that sought and attained this new look were the daughters and secondary sons of highborn Eldar who had little hope of inheritance or power. Yes, it was the young Lords and Ladies of the court who paraded the Great Halls of the Elves on Middle Earth currying sexual favors with those who had the time and money to entertain and inform.”

Erestor sighed and elaborated with references to the drawings. “The men and the women wore corsets to define their forms. Sometimes they wore little else, displaying all the beauty they were gifted with. At the same time, they excelled at the art of conceal versus reveal. The corset covered their skin, but exposed their form. All of the costumes were like this. They painted their faces, dyed their hair and coaxed it into ringlets. They brushed their skin with shimmering powder and decked themselves out with sparkling jewels and adorned their brows with elaborate headpieces. They wore no shoes; they sometimes etched erotic patterns and pictures into their skin with needle and ink. They trained themselves to move with nothing but sin and seduction. They whispered always words of sex and passion into the ears of any who would listen. They lay with one another to entertain the courts. They went with the Lords and Ladies and Kings and Queens and learned of their bodies many things. This is how they found favor in the court and this is how they lived their lives.”

Erestor sighed heavily. “They were the Nodnyth. The Bound Youths. They lasted little more than three centuries among the courts of Eregion. Perhaps longer elsewhere. Never before and never since have such incredibly revealing and suggestive fashions been popular. Nor the activities that went with them.”

Silence reigned in the office. The twins slowly turned to one another with big eyes, and then they turned together to wonderingly face Glorfindel at his desk in the corner as if for confirmation. But the warrior only shrugged as if to say, ‘how should I know?’ and he matter-of-factly told the twins, “I was dead at the time.”

Then they looked at Erestor, who flatly told them, “Your father would lock you in your rooms till the boats sail.”

“Right,” they answered in synchronicity. One took up the book that had the picture of the bejeweled warrior that Erestor had suggested. “Can we borrow this?” he asked.

Erestor nodded and wearily waved them away as they scampered to the door, which banged shut behind them. Then he shook his head and looked helplessly to Glorfindel. “Youth!” he cursed softly.

But Glorfindel only looked at him and asked, “Is it true?”

Erestor let slip a small smile. “Oh, it’s true,” he promised, standing to deliver the Book of the Nodnyth into Glorfindel’s hands. “Ask Elrond, if you’re curious. I know that he recalls the time with a certain admiration and nostalgia.”

= = = = =

Glorfindel and Erestor could go on only so long before they were caught. Glorfindel was first.

“My Captain, my Captain!” Lindir hallooed down the hall one bright and shining day. “My ears are all a’tingle with the whispering and gossip of a much-anticipated Masque. Arwen is being so secretive, some claim that she is making her costume alone herself so that none may know it aforehand. Already, the tailors have been working furiously away in their dressmaking dorms. I must say that I too await the evening with much eagerness.”

“And your costume?” Glorfindel willingly took the bait.

“A bard of the Amiren minstrelsy. All pretty rags and tasseled sleeves.”

“I’m sure it will well become you,” the Captain told him.

Lindir smiled his usual indulgent grin and told him, “Thank you. But yourself, Captain? I’ve heard not a word! What shall you don in the spirit of the eve?”

Glorfindel shook his head as they walked side-by-side among the high balconies of the upper House. “I’ve little time for such silliness, Lindir. I require no costume.”

“Silliness?” he declared. “No time?!” he repeated, shocked. “I am heartily offended that you will not honor the Lady—”

Glorfindel held up a hand before the musician really got started. “I mean no offense and you know it!” He sighed. “I’ve little love of fancy dress and court absurdity. You know that too.”

“I know it,” Lindir answered. “But I am still most displeased.”

= = = = =

Erestor fell not long after.

It was as he was confirming entertainment participation for the evening in question that Arwen snuck into the otherwise empty office to sit idly at Glorfindel’s desk and observe her Champion.

Erestor let her stew for a good hour before he indulged her with a glancing smile. “Good day, little princess.”

“Good day, my Champion. I wanted to thank you for your aid in selecting for me a gown; it is coming along well. And I was wondering what your plans for the evening are?”

“There is no power on this earth that could make me indulge in the tomfoolery of your Mother for any reason.”

“What if I say please?” Arwen tittered.

“Not if you dusted my entire library while singing my praises,” he answered, still focused intently on his work.

“I see,” she answered, thwarted. “But I am most displeased.”

= = = = =

The next day, Glorfindel and Erestor found themselves standing like guilty children in front of Elrond’s desk. Elrond sat looking up at them, and Celebrian stood beside her husband, staring at the Captain and the Counselor with a darkened expression.

They hung their heads and exchanged worried looks.

“My friends,” Elrond told them, “it would be most inappropriate for two such respected individuals in the House to snub the party.”

“We were going to come—” Glorfindel protested.

“And not dress?” Elrond asked, disappointed. “How uncouth.”

“But,” Erestor began. “Our time is limited—”

“You mean,” Celebrian interrupted, “You’ve no time to visit the tailor?”

The looks they traded became more worried yet. Something ominous hung in the air.

“You refuse me?” Celebrian finally asked.

For a moment, no answer came. But then Glorfindel bravely said, “And if we do refuse?”

Celebrian and Elrond shared evil grins.

= = = = =

The twins found Glorfindel and Erestor in the empty dining hall well before dinner. They were each drinking from open bottles of Gondorian wine.

Elladan and Elrohir pulled up chairs across from the miserable pair and watched them with hidden smiles. “Strong stuff,” said the first.

“It must be serious,” said Elladan.

“What’s the sentence?” Elrohir added.

Glorfindel belched and Erestor answered them. “We are to design one another’s costumes for the evening. It is to be a ‘surprise.’”

“And you seem thrilled,” Elladan said sardonically.

Glorfindel and Erestor glared at one another and left the room, bottles of wine in hand.

= = = = =

Erestor put aside his irritation at having to participate in the charade. He sat that night in his rooms and, having collected a particular book from the stand beside his bed, began a series of quick sketches, getting closer and closer to the costume he would design for his friend.

While Erestor was busy in his rooms, Glorfindel had returned to their office. He’d lit several lanterns and was paging through the many books the twins had discarded.

His eyes, however, kept drifting to the corner of his desk, where still sat the old, leather-bound volume Erestor had showed him.

Finally, Glorfindel ceased his fruitless search and picked up the Book of the Nodnyth. He read it from cover to cover through the night and the many pictures that accompanied the text emblazoned themselves on his mind’s eye.

He grinned wickedly and began his own sketching.

= = = = =

Several days passed before Glorfindel thought he had achieved perfection, and he took his finalized drawings to the far removed dressmakers’ dorms on the opposite side of the Valley from the barracks. He was welcomed warmly, even though the Elves there were all quite busy cutting and draping and tailoring; together they shared the space with cobblers and milliners, and listening closely one could hear the banging of the smiths at work just round the nearby bend of the river.

Now of course everyone – especially the tailors – knew of the enforced arrangement between Glorfindel and Erestor, and many of the dressmakers ceased at once their work to come look at what Glorfindel had brought. He waited for a space to be cleared on one of the muslin-covered tables and the Master Tailor to greet him before he laid out the drawings, along with the Book of the Nodnyth, opened to a particular page.

Gasps and giggles flew among them, especially the young apprentices who had never seen nor heard of such things. Glorfindel looked only to the Master Tailor, who took up the one picture Glorfindel had colored with charcoal and chalk to study it closely. “It has been a long time,” he said quietly, “since I have made one of these.”

“Can you do it?” Glorfindel asked eagerly.

“Oh yes. If you think he will wear it.”

Glorfindel focused his attention on the drawing, showing a dark-haired Elf bound up in a tight black and gold corset laced up with crimson cord from crotch to mid-chest connected to vine-like leather straps that wound up around the shoulders. Swooping, leaf-like panels skirted the legs in silvery gossamer, leaving the hips and upper thighs exposed. A tight collar of mithril and gold about the neck was hung with strings of mithril and opal beads that dangled and draped over bare arms and chest. Curled hair fell down the back and was piled atop the head, crowned with a tiered circlet of mithril and opal.

Glorfindel smiled. “He’ll have to.”

= = = = =

Despite the fun they denied they were having, Glorfindel and Erestor were still adamant that they did not want to take part in the ‘tomfoolery’ as Erestor had called it, and those who assisted the matchmaker grew worried, for the couple easily began to blame one another for their plight and spent much of their workday in aggravated silence.

As the months passed, Lindir and Arwen kept a close watch on their respective targets. They made sure that costumes were chosen and commissioned, even if they themselves never saw the designs. They also made sure that Glorfindel and Erestor arrived at the tailor’s so their measurements could be carefully recorded. It just so happened that their appointments were at the same time, of course.

As they stood upon the elevated stools in the dressmakers’ dorms, they glared heartily at one another, for the most part ignoring everyone else in the room, from the tailors busy at their tables to the low-ranking apprentices who worked in pairs to take their measurements. Lindir and Arwen, who stood just within the doorway like suspicious guard dogs, were especially ignored.

The Captain and the Counselor mutely obeyed the polite commands of their measurers.

“Step down.”

“Lift your arm.”

“Stand straight.”

“Hold still.”

And despite their silent grudge, the pair couldn’t help but notice that their fitters were taking extraordinary care and being most thorough. Finally, Glorfindel remarked, “Do you really think you need the length of my nose?”

The young apprentice blushed and backed away while Erestor’s pair asked him to remove his robes and shirt.

“What is this, a brothel?” he angrily demanded.

“If your modesty is so great,” spoke up the Master Tailor, “take yourself to one of the booths to complete your measurements.”

Of course, such a thing was ridiculous; Erestor wasn’t THAT fastidious, so he huffily removed the specified garments, growling at the apprentice who attempted to assist him. He stood, bare-chested and fuming as the measuring tapes were pulled tight around his waist. He turned to Glorfindel and snarled, “Has breathing been accounted for?”

“I hope so,” the Captain quipped. “I’d hate for you to pass out and have an excuse to absent yourself from the festivities.”

Erestor took the rest of the day for himself and did no work. He avoided the office and he avoided Glorfindel.

= = = = =

As the months died, whispers traversed the halls. The people of Imladris talked of the bargain or the dare or the bet that had arisen between their Captain and their Counselor. No one could say quite why or how, but they knew of the pair’s original reluctance and that they were now in charge of surprising one another with costumes for the Masque.

It was like a miniature drama, but very well hidden. No matter who approached the tailors or how, the Elves in charge of the upcoming spectacle betrayed nothing.

Erestor came closest to ruining the charade. He randomly visited the tailors every few weeks in hopes of glimpsing his costume. Although Glorfindel was hardly subtler, Erestor came closest because on one visit when he burst into the room, a group of Elves flung themselves over the project they were working on. The Master Tailor bodily removed Erestor form the dorms and told him not to come back.

Alas for Erestor, all he had caught sight of was something silver and flowing.

= = = = =

Glorfindel’s visits were friendlier and he often let the tailors know he was coming, that he might observe the evolution of Erestor’s costume. He was particularly thrilled once the corset had its boning and he insisted on holding it and caressing it and asking all sorts of questions. Glorfindel was always welcome in the dressmakers’ dorms. He also cast his eyes about the place full of Elves hard at work, but if his costume was there, he never recognized it for what it was.

 But as those months quickly dwindled, and Glorfindel again fondled the pages of the Book of the Nodnyth, newly amazed every time he did so, the roots of the seeds of doubt took hold in his mind and as Erestor’s costume neared completion he began to wonder if this hadn’t been such a bright idea after all.

And then he wondered what Erestor had in store for him and he began to truly worry.

The sideways glances toward his friend that had been semi-wrathful the past year morphed to shifty suspicion.

And finally, he could stand it no longer and he sat himself down in the chair across from Erestor’s desk one day and begged, “Just tell me how much you’re going to humiliate me.” It was almost a question.

But Erestor turned to him with a blank expression and said only, “I’m not.”

Glorfindel’s brain stuck on ‘huh?’ and he thought back the past year since Celebrian’s announcement. He began to think he himself had maintained the majority of the conflict between them. He stuttered a moment and then confessed, “Well, you really don’t have to, uh, wear the, the costume . . .” He drifted sadly off into silence as he gestured vaguely at nothing.

Erestor eyed him intensely. “Is it your intent, then, to humiliate me?” he asked curiously, softly.

“Maybe a little,” Glorfindel said at once. “But I also wanted you to loosen up a bit. Now I feel it is an injury to your honor.”

Erestor smiled. Coyly. “Well, we’ll see.”

= = = = =

The year ticked quickly by and with several months yet ahead of them, the tailors invited Glorfindel to come to the dorm to view the completed Nodnith costume.

The Captain let out a shrill whistle at the sight. The Master Tailor glowed with pride, but he warily asked, “Do you think our dignified Chief of Counselors will truly wear it?”

Glorfindel reached out to caress the flowing fabric lighter than silk and twice as priceless. He shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know.”

= = = = =

Arwen invited Erestor to her Chambers, where she and her mother had been busy making her gown. It was finished and she seemed to want his approval. The little princess was proud to model it for him and he assured her that she was beautiful and that her decision had indeed been a good one and that she had nothing to fret about.

And then she begged to know what he had prepared for Glorfindel’s costume and he refused to tell her.

= = = = =

A flurry of excitement pervaded the House in the last days before the Masque. Everyone was rushing to finish last-minute additions and alterations. The tailors, dressmakers, cobblers, milliners, armorers, and smiths were all hard at work in the dorms, shops, and smithies. The House staff was in a decorating tizzy as the Dining Hall was decked out with the most elaborate tablecloths and table runners, finest crystal and silver and ceramic settings. The floors were polished to a gleaming shine and new white beeswax candles graced all the lanterns, sconces, and holders.

New tapestries adorned the walls and many decadent artifacts that Erestor and his lackeys had rescued from storage were refurbished and polished to a high sheen. There was a mithril and silver fountain that continually cycled wine through four spouts, each shaped like a different animal: peacock, swan, lion, and caribou. There were candelabra of iron and silver that were shaped like life-size trees or saplings, wintered and leafless and full of those white candles. There was a serving table made entirely of colored glass and chairs that had been shaped from growing trees or inlaid with mithril or set with precious gems.

And there was a new chandelier hanging from the high dome of the hall. It was the largest ever seen in Imladris and was hung with thousands of shimmering cut crystal baubles that would reflect the light of a hundred candles in rainbow rays of color.

= = = = =

The eve before the Masque, the anticipation was fairly palpable in the excited laughter and nervous gestures of all who dined together. Erestor and Glorfindel were particularly silent though. They knew that at that very moment, tailors were stealing into their rooms to lay out the finished costumes for the next evening. This was one stipulation that they had achieved: that they might have at least a day to accustom themselves to the outfit their Lady had insisted and each other was forcing them to wear.

Between the two, Glorfindel was far more anxious, beginning to wish he had not been so very foolish nor vindictive in his choice of Erestor’s wardrobe.

And after the meal was done, the pair went their separate ways, hurrying to their rooms.

= = = = =

Erestor tried to act normal and unhurried as he entered his quarters and casually locked the door behind him, which was a thing he never did.

He saw something shimmering from the corner of his eye. But he did not yet look.

Leisurely he removed the day’s garments, bathing quickly from a low tub at the corner of his room with cool water. He dried his body and donned his sleeping attire, a simple long shirt.

Then he licked his lips and took a steadying breath and turned to face the opposite corner of his room where, on a specially made stand, hung his costume.

He gasped, eyes wide.

He walked slowly the distance to it, taking in every speck. It was a corset, done up in something like black satin and gold thread, bound up the front with crimson cording. The corset grew, vine-like, into black leather straps and gold buckles and he could only barely make heads or tails of what exactly was supposed to go where.

Dangling lightly from the ancient decadence of the corset was a silvery flowing sort of skirt made up of pointed, leaf-like panels of fabric that would swoop along the sides of his legs.

There was something like a tight necklace too, but he could see that it was more of a collar, and all sorts of lines of beads of mithril and opal fell in successive waterfalls of glinting opulence. There was a headdress too, just the sort of tiered circlet that was appropriate, formed from mithril with hanging opals.

Erestor circled the costume warily, taking everything in, and then he caught sight of something on his bed.

He walked smoothly over to see that it was the Book of the Nodnyth that he had shown Glorfindel. He had wondered what had happened to it.  
 And tucked between the pages was a drawing that he carefully pulled out to examine. It was the colored rendering that Glorfindel had made, and Erestor could see exactly how the costume was to be worn.

But at the bottom of the drawing was a note.

‘Erestor. Told you, you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I understand. –G.”

Erestor smiled.

= = = = =

Glorfindel was less controlled. After he departed the main hallways, he ran all the way to his room and burst in with flying doors and fluttering garments.

He saw it.

He slammed the doors behind him and pressed back as if to escape the dazzling magnificence in front of him.  
 There, directly before him, stood a suit of armor.

His eyes watered.

He stepped weakly forward and touched the gilt steel. It was glorious.

It was an exact replica of the armor he had worn in Gondolin. Not the wretched torn plate mail he had died in, but the body armor for special occasions, the full suit of plates and padded leather that would never have been fought in, even if it was battle-ready.

Carefully layered plates of gilt steel folded one over the other and were all carved or forged or engraved in designs and pictures of the life he had lived in Gondolin. The bracers, the greaves, the golden helm, every inch of plate metal was decorated with dazzling accuracy the life he had lived. His king, his queen, his family, his childhood, his training, his captaincy, his battles, his victories. Centered on the chest was the Golden Flower, and on the back, his defeat: the Balrog casting him down.

On his bed was folded the tightly fitting black velvet to be worn beneath and soft tan leather undercoat, to cushion the armor. He only glanced at them. And as he pressed closer to the magnificence of the shining golden gilt of the armor, his eye caught something else. He removed the back plate to see that all of the interior was etched with more scenes. Nothing anyone would ever see, but still carved so carefully and precisely and beautiful. Scenes of his new life in Imladris. His arrival. His acceptance. The Battle of the Last Alliance. Elrond’s wedding. The Peredhil family. And there, where the metal plate would rest over his heart, Erestor. Standing lonely at a high balcony.

He fell to his knees at the glory before him and wept.

= = = = =

Erestor stuck his head out into the hallway, unsurprised to find Arwen there, arm in arm with the Master Tailor.

“You,” Erestor pointed to the Lady. “Stay.”

He beckoned the Tailor forward to whisper in his ear.

= = = = =

Glorfindel collected himself with difficulty at the knock on his door. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and peeked out to see Elrond and Lindir looking curiously in. “Well?” Elrond demanded.

Cautiously, Glorfindel let them in.

= = = = =

Arwen and the Master Tailor set out at once to gather themselves the trinkets that Erestor had asked for.

= = = = =

Lindir, Elrond, and Glorfindel stared in awe at the armor. “It’s amazing,” the Minstrel finally offered by way of observation.

“Extraordinary,” Elrond breathed.

“That’s not all,” Glorfindel told them from where he sat in a chair near the door. “Look inside.”

Elrond and Lindir carefully took apart the pieces from the mahogany stand, surveying each tiny carving within the armor and without.

When Lindir was turning over a bracer, he gasped. “Did you see this inscription?” he asked.  Glorfindel jumped up and raced to his side to grab the armguard and look at the interior. Elrond peered over their shoulders and read aloud,

“Everything here in this depiction,  
From gilt engraving to this inscription,  
From birth to death and battles fought,  
From great deeds to deep thought:  
All is a tribute to my closest friend,  
Reminded that death is not the end,  
That your life be not forgot,  
In remembrance this has been wrought.  
Knowing that times come and go,  
That Kings rise and fall;  
Let this armor show  
That our friendship is all.”

Glorfindel tried to be subtle when wiping the tears from his eyes. “I can’t believe this. It is the greatest gift anyone has ever given. It is greater than I deserve.”

“Do not believe that,” Elrond gently whispered. “And do not fret. Tomorrow, Lindir and I will come and aid in your dressing. You shall shine brightest in all the court, Glorfindel. People will remember you for what you have done.”

Lindir wisely nodded. “They begin to forget. But now they will not.”


	5. The Masque

The next day, people seemed to go out of their way to ensure that Glorfindel and Erestor never saw one another. Finally, Erestor gave up the fruitless search. He withdrew early in the day to begin his lengthy, in-depth preparations.

The Master Tailor was there to help Erestor bathe and perfume his body.

The Counselor lay on his bed on his side and the Tailor spent an hour with needle and ink, inscribing a tattoo low on Erestor’s hip, where the cloth panels would part.

Then the Master Tailor helped to fit the corset in place and pull the crimson cording tight, ensuring that the flowing silver skirt lay just so over his most private of parts. He helped to clasp the golden buckles that fit tight over the shoulders and back, and to tightly curl the flowing midnight hair, entwining it with gold and silver thread.

Then Arwen was admitted to the room and she joined them. She gave to Erestor what he requested and she helped him to paint his face in shades of crimson and violet and white and black. She gave to him her mithril earrings that descended into opal teardrops, piercing ears that had not worn such adornments in over an Age. She helped to fasten the collar with its pearl buttons and drape the strings of beads over his arms and chest. She had for him rings of silver and gold set with emeralds and sapphires and rubies to wear upon his fingers, and bangles of gold and ceramic-like cloisonne to wear upon his wrists.

They clasped round his ankles bands of copper and gold and lastly, they placed the crown-like circlet of mithril on his head; it shimmered and the dangled opals continually glittered. Erestor then turned his back on them and said, “Thank you. Please leave me, now.”

Arwen whispered something in his ear, and they left.

= = = = =

Meanwhile, Lindir and Elrond were acting as squires to Glorfindel, who refused to speak during the process of armoring him.

He had searched even longer and far more desperately to find Erestor, to beg forgiveness maybe. But no such luck.

As it was, everything fit perfectly and he watched carefully each piece, as the Imladris scenes of his life were hidden against the black velvet and soft leather gambeson and his life in Gondolin shone bright from the golden armor.

Those who suited him respected the silence, but as they were buckling the last of the fine leather straps, Lindir sang under his breath a song of Gondolin.

“There are lands of silver grasses  
And some of golden halls  
There are palaces of marble  
And those with crystal walls  
But when I play my mandolin  
I sing of shining waterfalls.

“There are citadels that tower high  
And towers higher still  
There are those that live beneath the ground  
And those on rolling hills  
But when I play my mandolin  
I sing of cliffs and what I will.

“There are lands away beyond the sea  
But when I play my mandolin  
I sing of my lost home  
For there was none so fine as Gondolin  
A land where what we lose  
Never equals what we win.”

“For when we quit the pretty place  
We lost too much to think it well  
We lost our families and our home  
We lost all when Gondolin fell  
We lost the cliffs and falls and trees  
When we lost our shining Glorfindel.”

For once, the Master Minstrel showed no sign of mirth when he raised sad green eyes to Glorfindel’s blue. The Captain of Imladris inclined his head to him and Lindir did the same.

= = = = =

Lindir, in his parti-colored outfit of motley with tasseled sleeves and bell-draped hat, opened the Festivities with wild and raucous music from the band of minstrels, all decked out in various flaring colors and shapes. Among them were pointed shoes, great buckles, patchwork vests, bells and baubles, crowns, ruffs, beads, and jewels.

Then came the Lord and Lady, descending from the main entrance in recreations of their wedding clothes, down to the wreaths of ivy and laurel on their heads. Their robes were white and shining with diamonds and pearls and they were resplendent in their love of one another.

The people cheered and the crowd swelled with happy voices and they all shimmered in the candlelight. Round the open Hall the Lord and Lady paraded until they reached thrones specially made for this night, tall and rich and white and upholstered in red velvet. There they sat and watched over all as the people processed about the room, showing off the magnificence and decadence and foolishness. They oohed and ahhed over one another, reminiscing and rejoicing. Stories they told of Ages past and the hall was alive with a brilliant exuberance.

Disruptions routinely broke the flow of the early evening as people of import or with the most elaborate costumes made their grand entrances atop the elevated stair where all could witness the arrival.

The disruption became silence, however, when two figures stood side by side. It was the twin sons of Elrond adorned in ancient battle armor, their skin shining with tiny mithril beads sewn there in star-like patterns.

Whispers fluttered among the people; all were impressed and overawed, even Elrond. Their parents greeted them and the throng enveloped them and the evening resumed with more conversation.

Next came Arwen, in a gown that Luthien might have wore. Deepest plum it was, with flowing white sleeves, the whole of it lined in dark brown fur. A mithril pendant hung about her delicate neck and the people were moved to silent wonder. Some wept at the sight, declaring that Tinuviel walked among them that night.

The twins ascended the steps and stood on either side of her to escort their dark and bright sister down the stair.

The people delighted in the continuous parade of newcomers, chuckling and praising and ridiculing in equal measure the depravity and silliness and beauty about them.

Not long after Arwen’s ethereal appearance, a hush fell over the hall and they all turned to the entrance, where stood a golden warrior. Glorfindel removed the black-plumed helm to stare out at the people, who regarded him with something akin to fear. For many, it was the first time they had looked upon Glorfindel as anything other than their bright and loyal Imladrian Captain. Standing before them was suddenly a Legend who had fallen and risen and yet walked among them, in rich and brilliant splendor. Glorfindel’s looks were fierce and wild. He stood majestic and proud, looking at the costumed crowd without expression. Then, he handed his helmet and gauntlets to a waiting valet and descended the steps. He gestured lightly to Lindir, who resumed the music, though few could look away from the tall and mighty warrior with golden hair flowing wisp-like and free down his back.

When Glorfindel’s seemingly royal presence dulled to something less spectacular amid the wild multitude, the braver Elves approached to gently touch his armor, to examine the pictures on it, and to compliment his dashing and kingly appearance.

The rumble of voices grew in anticipation of the upcoming Feast, to be followed by dancing, but not all were yet arrived.

Glorfindel found the smiths who had forged his armor for the fete and he spent a hushed conversation with them in the corner as the twins and Arwen sat in lavish chairs arrayed on the dais on either side of their parents.

The entrance of the Head Tailor initiated a small flurry of activity, and Glorfindel was one of only a few who inquisitively watched.

The Tailor himself was dressed in simpler robes of a time gone by, but made no grand entrance, not even looking at the crowd as he hurried down the steps and over to the assembled minstrels, where he exchanged a few words with Lindir, who nodded and immediately began interrogating surprised musicians, a few of whom uncertainly nodded in the affirmative.

Arwen, having seen the Tailor’s entry, immediately gathered her handmaidens, who seemed to have anticipated this call as they moved unquestioningly, following their young Lady through the assembly. The Ladies collected atop the steps in a semicircle facing the crowd, so as to hide something behind them. Arwen was at the fore.

Lindir beat a large hand drum to silence the masses, who looked to the maidens in their shining robes and dresses and gowns, holding out bell sleeves or wide skirts or long capes to conceal what was behind them.

A few minstrels stood from their seats, silent and serious with percussive instruments in their hands. Lindir traded off the goatskin drum for a tambourine. One player held a flattened bit of metal to strike with a small hammer and others had drums or rattles or bells, or sticks to beat together.

Lindir led them, as they did nothing more than beat a torturously slow rhythm as one. Slower than a heartbeat or a breath by far, and not altogether synchronized so slow and primitive was the beat, and they all looked to the steps.

The beat grew successively quicker over the period of more than a minute until it was nothing more than cacophonous banging. Then, at a raised hand from Lindir, the noise ceased to only a reverberating echo and the women moved aside in a light step and swishing garments to reveal a figure.

Standing, still and silent, was an Elf. In the dress of the Nodnyth, he – if it was a ‘he’ – stood barefoot, one knee casually bent, hips tilted. Plunging silver panels that revealed the hips and upper, outer thighs skirted the legs. A black and gold corset cinched the waist tight, accentuating a flare to the hips. One arm hung down at his side, but the other hand held a fan, black paper and lace, that hid the face from view. Still, the complex and delicate headdress could be seen, as well as the tightly curled hair in shining ringlets that glistened with fairy-spun gold.

Every eye was fixed, every breath was held, everyone was motionless. The only sound was that of the fire. It was a frozen moment, a tableau. Then, the figure moved. He stepped forward, face still veiled behind the fan. Another paper and lace fan hung from his corset and swayed from side to side over his left thigh as he gently descended each step. The bangles on his wrists clanged as he walked, and the dangling opals of the tiara tinkled lightly.

The crowd parted with rustling fabric, and gasps arose as he passed. They saw the glittering jewels and buckled straps. They saw the tattoo at his side and they saw the painted face.

There was something unspeakably androgynous about the figure’s swaying hips and sharp eyes. And something incredibly young.

When he stood before the thrones where sat the Lord and Lady and where stood the Captain Glorfindel, Erestor lowered the fan. And smiled. Slowly.

Seductively.

Glorfindel stared owlishly and his lips were parted in shock.

But Elrond did something unexpected. He leaned forward and beckoned Erestor toward him. And the Lord returned the lecherous smile.

The Half Elven spoke to Erestor, but loud enough for all within the chamber to hear. “It has been a long time. Too long since the courts have seen a Nodnith in their halls.”

Whispers scurried through the gathering at the word ‘Nodnith.’

“You are most welcome here, Erestor of Eregion.”

“I thank you, my Lord.” His words were slow, and his voice was soft and deeply rumbling, full of sexual suggestion.

Something within Glorfindel began to tremble.

Then Erestor mounted the steps up the throne to the dais until he stood between the thrones, and he held up the wide fan so that when he leaned in close to Elrond, none could see their faces.

Long they whispered, hidden behind the fan and when Erestor retreated, Elrond was blushing and his mouth was stained red from the paint on Erestor’s lips, which were curved in a satisfied and knowing grin as Celebrian bit back a smile. Then, Erestor turned and bowed to whisper in Celebrian’s ear and her laughter tinkled in the Hall, finally breaking the astounded silence.

Lindir started up an easy folk song and the people relaxed, but a small crowd gathered around the thrones where Erestor stood, and he played to them, leaning in close to whisper and to touch them and to show his tattoo and flutter his fan and laugh.

And the people all marveled and blushed at his words as he told them in fierce terms exactly what he would do to them or let them do to him if they only asked.

Then he sat in Elrond’s lap and did naughty things with his hands and the Lord blushed, but Elrond also spoke low and licked up Erestor’s ear. When the Captain was at the other end of the room walking arm in arm with Celebrian, Elrond whispered, “That armor of Glorfindel’s. It is amazing. Just what do you feel for him, Erestor?”

The Counselor sighed and draped himself more comfortably across Elrond’s lap as he shyly whispered, “Something precariously similar to love.”

Their eyes met, deeply dark and cloudy gray. “Good,” Elrond told him.

“I’ll always think fondly of our time in Eregion,” Erestor promised. “I will remember the time I spent with you here too, in the early days of a blooming Haven, and I will smile.”

“Good,” Elrond told him. “I always have.”

Then the dinner bell rang, and the assembly moved to the long tables and sat and dined on the most excessive, richest, unbelievable foods.

Elrond sat at the head of the high table, with his family around him. Glorfindel sat across from Erestor. He wished he hadn’t, for Erestor made the meal a show of suggestion. Every deliberate move of the fork, every bite, every swallow, every moan of satisfaction was nothing short of debauched irreverence.

Glorfindel ate little. Rather, he stared captivated at his friend. Who looked slyly up at him. “The armor suits you, my Captain.”

Again Glorfindel felt that tremble somewhere within him at the sound of the sultry voice, at the glancing, seductive eyes. ‘My Captain.’ Finally he cleared his throat and answered. “The armor I do not deserve. But I thank you for it; I wept at its glory. I can hardly believe I am wearing something so . . . It is beyond magnificent.”

Erestor smiled. “You are welcome.” He watched Glorfindel watching him. “You cannot believe I wore this,” he observed, a smile in his voice and on his youthful face.

Glorfindel shook his head in agreement.

“You did not know I was once a Nodnith.”

Glorfindel again shook his head.

Erestor nodded and leaned closer over the table, the earrings and the opals of his tiered circlet wavering and reflecting the candlelight in shivers of white light as the beads that covered his chest in strings of mithril and opal clanked gently together. He spoke, and every word was fortified with sin. “I was the third son of a Lord and born at the dawning of Eregion. I was a Nodnith, one of the first. I helped to create them, the culture of them. What we wore, what we did, what we said. How we spoke. How we moved. How we lived. We entertained the courts,” he said with a grin. “The first three hundred years of my life were exalted in sin and decadence. I knew little else but the joys of the flesh, and wine and warmth.”

And then he licked his cream-dipped spoon. He made it a profane act.

Glorfindel’s jaw dropped momentarily before he recovered and cast his eyes elsewhere. But not for long.

Erestor continued his story as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “And then a young Half-Elf – though older than I – visited the newly made land. Elrond and I were content for a short time. Short for Elves, that is. We learned many . . . ‘things’ together.” Erestor put the stress in all the right places. “We were happy together. But he had other duties and the Nodnyth did not last long. But the rules we lived by,” Erestor laughed with nostalgia, “they still live in my heart.” His painted eyes grew narrow and his cherry red smile was wicked. “I have missed the ways of my youth, Glorfindel. I thank you for the opportunity to relive it.”

Glorfindel blinked reflexively and swallowed.

= = = = =

And when the dining was done, the crowd moved again to the hall. The tables were cleared as swiftly as possible to open up the entire chamber for dancing, and Elrond stood and announced a waltz.

Around the dazzling couples danced, in circles small and wide. They wove together and dipped and bowed and swirled. Their sleeves and capes and gowns flared around. They were a mass of twirling color and sparkling jewels. They were elegant and horrible and beautiful.

Arwen danced with her father, and the twins danced with one another. Glorfindel danced with Celebrian, and the Master Tailor had the honor of being the first to dance with Erestor.

And wherever he went, curious and wanting eyes followed Erestor through the room. They watched the sensual way he sauntered and turned, the way his clothes covered him and the way they didn’t. They watched his smiles and winks, his teasing and his flirting. They watched as he left the floor to dawdle in the corners behind his fan and share kisses in the shadows, knowing perfectly well he could be seen, should anyone choose to watch. And that they were definitely watching.

He exchanged kisses freely behind the privacy of his black fan with any who let him. He moved among the minstrelsy and showed his ‘appreciation’ of their playing. He sat languidly on Elrond’s throne, flirting with the masses and telling bawdy stories to a small crowd that he had accrued. He traded touches with the more daring members of the assembly, caressing them to watch their arousal and touching himself to watch them blush.

And when asked if it was true, he would say, “Yes, I was a Nodnith. And tonight I am one again.”

Glorfindel heard this and watched, and he trembled.

At one point, Erestor coaxed Glorfindel to sit in Celebrian’s throne and the two glorious friends watched their Lord and Lady dance, sweeping across the floor. “Did you see my tattoo?” Erestor asked, gazing at the golden warrior from beneath lowered lashes.

Glorfindel could hardly reconcile this sexual being with the Elf he’d worked beside over the centuries and had slowly grown to value. He repeatedly blinked and his mouth gaped, fishlike. He twitched his head from side to side. No, he hadn’t really been looking at the tattoo.

Shifting in a rolling, catlike move to one side, Erestor showed to Glorfindel his exposed upper leg, showing much more than just his thigh, where the black ink blazed dark against pale skin.

“The Golden Flower,” Glorfindel murmured, reaching without thinking toward the emblem of his fallen House, the same insignia inscribed at the center of his gilded chest plate. He halted his hand just inches from the skin, staring at the swirling dark lines.

“Touch me,” Erestor intoned low and deep.  
 Glorfindel shuddered and laid his warm fingers against the flesh low on Erestor’s hip, feeling the gently raised lines of the mark that would only fade after many decades. And he pulled back as if burnt, completely unaware of the many people who were looking up at the white thrones where they sat in clear view of the entire hall.

Erestor laughed, an erotic promise in his mirth as he stood and winked and walked away, hips swaying, fan covering his nose and mouth as the people again parted before him. He made his slow and taunting way across the marble floor to sit in conference with Lindir, whispering long and low into the Master Minstrel’s ear.

Later, when the music stopped, the crowd all turned to face Lindir, who stood upon a chair to address them with arms flung wide and a secretive smile on his face. “My cherished people of Imladris! I hope that you have all enjoyed yourselves this evening, and though we are by no means through, we have now a special presentation for you: the Song of the Nodnyth! Please clear the floor. Please clear your minds. Please watch closely, for I doubt that this is something you will ever see again.”

Erestor slowly took the floor, his bare feet whispering over the cool stone as the skirt flickered silver and his hips swayed temptingly. A slow beat began, reminiscent of the rhythm that had introduced him. He carried the fan before his face as seemed custom, and then took the other fan from its little button on the edge of the corset. Both black fans were spread in his ringed fingers and he smiled between them.

He moved to the slow beat, the fans accentuating his moves, opening and closing to dictate the percussionists and to tempt the throng closer. Then he began to sing, so slow and rhythmic, as he turned and swayed in the center of the open floor.

But as the song progressed, it speeded faster and faster, and his movements strove to match the beat. He was aroused and the silver silk did little to hide the fact. He played to the people, getting closer to them, almost touching them. It was absolutely sinful.

He sang. Slow at first.

“Follow me, follow me  
Come with, come with  
Dance and dine, dine and dance  
Among the Nodnyth

“We revel in the flames that tempt  
We fan the blaze forever higher  
In a world where living means loving  
We’ll draw you into the fevered fire

“Untie me, untie me  
Lay with, lay with  
Learn and love, love and learn  
Among the Nodnyth

“Come forward, lay on your hands  
And we’ll obey; we are most willing  
Your wishes are our wishes  
Our bodies are vessels for filling

“Claim me, claim me  
Come with, come with  
Die a little death  
Among the Nodnyth

“We are bound for your pleasure  
And revealed for your lust  
Take our hips in your hands  
We strive to meet every thrust

“Ravish me, ravish me  
Lay with, lay with  
For mine is the Way  
Of the lustful Nodnyth”

The last lines were sung directly to Glorfindel, so directly in fact that Erestor had neatly chased him, backing him up the dais and into Elrond’s throne, and he was in the warrior’s lap as the last word left his painted lips in a shameless promise delivered but breaths from Glorfindel’s mouth.

The music ceased abruptly and the two Elves panted harshly in the otherwise silent room. Perhaps Glorfindel did not know every eye was upon them, or perhaps he had simply ceased to care, for his hand came up to grab a fistful of Erestor’s midnight curls and he crushed their mouths together in a claiming kiss of tangled passion.

Erestor clutched at the shining armor, his fans dropped to the floor in a pair of fluttering thumps like dying birds. He curled up tightly and eagerly in Glorfindel’s lap, his muscles straining against the black leather straps that crossed his back.

Glorfindel’s other hand moved to the tattoo revealed on his hip as they breathed and shuddered together. Finally, Glorfindel tightened his grip in the curling hair and he wildly yanked Erestor’s head back to murmur roughly against his lips, “What do you want?”

Erestor’s dark eyes fluttered open and he smiled, something of the old Erestor in the scheming expression. “You,” he declared hotly. Then, he grinned and added, “Inside me.”

Glorfindel stood, causing Erestor to slide from his lap and nearly fall. They cleaved together as best they could while leaving the hall at a run.

Every eye followed them as the echoes of their pounding feet reverberated back to the chamber.  
 Silence reigned.  Elrond turned to the crowd and said, “See what all you young ones missed in the Second Age?” He shook his head and gestured to his Master Minstrel, who smiled and took up a lute.

Elrond and Celebrian, Elrohir and Elladan, Arwen and Lindir, all of them smiled like cats the rest of the evening.


	6. The... Well, You Know

So incredibly eager was Erestor that they just didn’t make it all the way to Glorfindel’s rooms.

They raced through a labyrinthine passage of – what seemed for the first time to be – impossibly lengthy corridors and twisting paths and at every corner, one or the other would slam his partner to the wall and devour him with fierce, biting kisses until the urge for something more spurred them again to running, pushing and pulling one another down the halls.

While Glorfindel had an array of skin to search out on these little pauses in their quest for a bed, Erestor had to content himself only with kisses, as that phenomenal suit of armor was impervious even to his talented fingers.

At one point, as they barely secluded themselves in a slightly recessed alcove in the wall, Glorfindel’s hands finally found their way into the panels of that silver skirt through the gaping sides of it. He gasped into Erestor’s hungry mouth and moaned, “By Elbereth! Erestor! You aren’t wearing any . . . anything under . . .”

“Of course I’m not,” he hissed with a smile into Glorfindel’s ear. Then, Erestor started wrenching at the buckles of the golden armor’s codpiece. “I can’t stand this!” he breathed, pulling out of Glorfindel’s grasp to fall to his knees in the hall. He deftly separated the piece of armor and it fell to the floor with a clashing series of metallic clanks. Then he rifled his way through the layers of velvet beneath until he could take Glorfindel’s hard shaft quickly and completely into his hot, wet mouth.

The warrior had no defense for such an assault. At first, he scrabbled at the flat wall behind him with clawed fingers, but when that gifted creature began to tease with soft kisses and gentle licks to his aching pole, he grabbed two handfuls of curly hair and shoved in deep.

Erestor moaned with masochistic approval, lightly taking hold of armored hips and yielding to Glorfindel’s punishing assault on his mouth.

Glorfindel gave up any hope of restraint. He found his only sanity in Erestor’s lips wrapped tight around him and the throat that pulsed about him and the heat and the wet of it. The armor clanked rhythmically as he moved, and it would have been comical if it wasn’t so unbelievably intense. He sped up ferociously without thought to things like Erestor’s breathing and he was crying in gasping heaves as he thrust with mindless abandon and when he came, he harshly screamed Erestor’s name. The sound of it resounded through the passageways of the House and Glorfindel fell with a shuddering clank to his knees so that he could exchange sloppy kisses with Erestor, who leaned heavily against him.

“Does that alleviate things a bit?” Erestor asked, his lips brushing Glorfindel’s jaw.

The Captain nodded and gently caressed a rouged cheek. “Aye,” but then he smiled wickedly and fondled Erestor through his skirt. “But I’m not done with you yet.”  “I certainly hope not!” Erestor laughingly agreed as he stood and helped Glorfindel to his feet.

Only then did they cast apprehensive looks up and down the hall, but there was no evidence of anyone nearby. Hand in hand, they again headed off for Glorfindel’s quarters.

A’ clinking and a’ clanking, the golden Elf swiftly scurried back to scoop up his codpiece and take off again at a run.

= = = = =

Once within Glorfindel’s richly decorated chambers, they barely remembered to shut the door behind them as they moved in a circling embrace full of kisses, and Erestor’s clever hands attacked that wall of armor with passionate dedication, laying aside each piece with as much care as he could spare before returning to the rest. They left a trail of golden glinting armor between the entrance to Glorfindel’s main room and the door to his bedroom.

The last piece was cushioned by the rug where it landed and Glorfindel shrugged hastily out of his leather gambeson and velvet undershirt while Erestor helped pull off the boots as Glorfindel hopped idiotically from one foot to another. The pants were shed just as swiftly, just as furiously, enraged as they were that so many barriers should stand between the meeting of flesh to flesh.

But then Erestor turned and saw the bed. For a moment, he froze. The head and footboards of the bed were a dark mahogany and deeply carved, the posters were high, and the canopy a brilliant indigo with bed curtains of the same hue tied back to the posts. But the bed itself was covered in furs, and this is what had captured Erestor. He moved slowly forward, and Glorfindel watched the rocking motion of his ass. Erestor reached out a curious hand to caress the soft animal hides and he turned back to Glorfindel with an impish grin. “I like these,” he lowly intoned in that sex-ridden voice as he leaned suggestively against the mattress. “I can’t wait for you to fuck me on them.”

At that, Glorfindel let loose a low whine that he could not contain and Erestor pointedly watched his growing arousal. He admiringly surveyed Glorfindel’s tall body, from deeply toned muscles to flushing golden flesh already slicked with sweat, from heaving chest to flowing hair and wild blue eyes, dark with desire.

Erestor turned away. He walked to a side table and reached up with dainty hands to remove that fantastic headdress and lay it carefully down. Then, he pivoted to face Glorfindel and began to move. Fluttering hands deftly pulled the pins from his hair, which cascaded down his back in shimmering midnight curls, still entwined with metallic thread. He moved to the beat of his own heart, reaching next down to nimbly unhook the silver skirting and let it flow to the floor, exposing himself utterly to Glorfindel’s ravenous gaze. His cock stood out proudly from his body, long and narrow.

He beckoned Glorfindel forward.

Almost nervously the naked Elf approached on cautious feet. He licked his lips. “What do you want me to do?” he asked in a guttural rumble.

“I’m a Nodnith,” Erestor told him. “I like to be taken, Glorfindel. And right now, I want you to take me so hard, so brutal that I forget everything but you. Inside me. Claiming me. Finally.”

These words stirred something primitive within him, and the tingle that had begun so much earlier in the evening at the first sight of this creature grew to a frenzy. He stared at Erestor, at the smeared paint on the youthful face, the ringlet hair, the pearled collar that hugged his delicate neck, the leather straps that crossed a muscled chest, the corset that so tightly bound him, the purpled and leaking arousal, the tattooed hip, the tautly muscled legs.

Erestor touched himself shamelessly with a few languorous strokes before massaging up the satin of the gold and black corset to the crimson cording that pulled it tight.

Glorfindel slowly licked his own red-stained lips and his eyes carefully roved over all of Erestor’s body. His gaze was heavy and appraising, as though liking the look of new merchandise. “Leave it on.”

Erestor grinned with excitement and wicked satisfaction, a spark in his eyes at the growled order. “That’s the idea,” he whispered as he let alone the cord and corset that bound him, beginning to retreat as Glorfindel advanced, the solid bulk of him and intimidating presence moving Erestor to his own trembling exhilaration.

Suddenly, Glorfindel’s hand struck out, and he grabbed the collar of pearls and mithril with the strings of opal beads, and he pulled. Pearls and beads and precious stones went flying as he tossed the jewelry violently aside and pulled Erestor close so that their bodies met and he gnawed on that pale and pulsing neck as they thrust awkwardly together. They clawed at muscled flesh and Erestor’s make-up was smeared beyond repair.

Then, Glorfindel pushed him roughly away and slapped his ass and ordered, “Get up on that bed!”

Erestor quickly obeyed, but he did so in a slithering manner, an orgiastic expression on his smudged face as he slid against the furs, hair in a waving pool of ebony behind him. He writhed sensually in the center of the huge bed, black eyes trained on Glorfindel. Who growled.

And pounced.

Erestor playfully held him back and shrieked, “What are you going to do?”

“If I rightly recall, there was something in your song about ravishing.” And he proceeded to do just that, laying claim with mouth and hands to every exposed inch of flesh, wrapping those midnight curls in strong hands and nibbling at the pale skin peaking between leather straps.

When Erestor snuck his hands down between them, Glorfindel pressed him flat to those furs he so seemed to love and kissed him breathless while they drove together in tandem with rolling hips and hot bodies, Erestor’s corset smooth against Glorfindel’s chest.

And then, as though a fog had descended, everything seemed to slow. Their mouths mated with tender passion and hands were suddenly gentle in their quiet worship of one another. Glorfindel casually pulled his lips away to kiss along Erestor’s smooth jaw and then to tug on an opal earring and up to suck on the tip of an ear, eliciting the most delicious groans from a tortured throat. Glorfindel whispered, “I’m going to take you so slow you’re gonna beg for it.”

Erestor squeaked when Glorfindel rolled away to lay on his belly and hang off the edge of the mattress to ransack the underside of his bed, ignoring the kisses to his rear until he sat up with a bottle in hand and a declaration of “Ah ha!”

Erestor smirked and lay back, again slinking and sliding against the furs, rubbing his cheek against them.

“Oh no you don’t!” Glorfindel said with false anger as he grabbed Erestor’s bicep in a tight grip and pulled him up. “No make-up on the animal hides, Erestor.”

Erestor snorted with glee and Glorfindel threw him wildly back onto the bed. “You won’t be laughing by the time I’m through with you!” the warrior promised, rising up to his knees to make sure that Erestor was watching as he thickly slathered himself with oil: his large cock and both his hands up to the elbow.

Erestor’s eyes widened and his voice broke when he asked, “Just where are you going to put those, Glorf—”

Words died when Glorfindel traced an oiled path up Erestor’s quivering thighs to take his straining length in both hands and gently _squeeze_.

Erestor convulsed and thrust upwards, but Glorfindel immediately let go. Instead, he parted those long, pale legs to seek out the hidden, puckered entrance. Erestor gladly assisted him, parting his legs widely and angling himself upwards. Glorfindel’s thick finger slowly breached the willing body while his other hand caressed the trembling flesh laid out before him, from a tattooed hip up a satin corset to find a strong and firm hand to momentarily clutch. And then he smoothed that oil-slick hand up to stroke an arching throat.

Erestor trembled and moaned and fisted the furs in desperate hands as more of Glorfindel’s fingers moved inside him.

Glorfindel bent over him and huskily murmured in slow words, “How long has it been, my friend, since you’ve been taken?”

Erestor moaned again and looked at Glorfindel with unfocused eyes when he said, “Oh, about two thousand years, give or take.”

Rather surprised, Glorfindel winced in sympathy. “Before the Last Alliance? What on Middle Earth have you been saving yourself for?”

Taking a few steadying breaths as Glorfindel’s digits still moved within him, Erestor breathed out, “You, I think.”

Glorfindel laughed and shook his head and thrust his fingers deeper. “Think I can fit my whole hand in?”

Erestor threw back his head, beads of sweat lining his face even as he smiled. “Yeah, definitely been waiting for this one,” he gasped to himself before nodding. “Aye, I think you can.”

So began the slow process of stretching and sliding in deeper and deeper with four fingers. Glorfindel stroked Erestor’s cock in a steady rhythm all the while, occasionally laying kisses along the heated thigh or hip.

Erestor panted and cried out in something too much like pain when all of Glorfindel’s digits were finally together inside him.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Erestor furiously shook his head and shakily demanded, “Keep going. I want you in me to the wrist.”

And so Glorfindel continued his slow passage into Erestor’s body, keeping his fingers tight together as he sheathed his oiled hand in clenching heat. Somewhere along the line, he added more of that slickly sliding oil, and things seemed to ease up a bit and Erestor sighed as the thickest part of the palm slithered all the way in so that he was indeed in ‘to the wrist.’

Tears gathered in Erestor’s eyes as he tried to maintain steady breathing, while Glorfindel just watched in amazement with wide, blue orbs and said, “You have no idea how powerful I feel right now.”

“Show me,” Erestor whispered, his dark eyes closed, his breathing labored, his body clenching around Glorfindel’s hand like hot iron.

He screamed when Glorfindel closed his hand into a fist. And squeezed. He slowly pumped his fist within the hot recess of Erestor’s body, and the corseted Elf shook and shivered and writhed, yet trying to hold himself still.

Glorfindel uncurled his hand to wriggle his fingers and to caress a very specific point within him and Erestor went absolutely wild. He thrashed about on the bed and thrust up into nothing, his eyes clenched shut, one bejeweled hand wrapped in what was becoming a very matted patch of fur on the bed and the other bound in Glorfindel’s golden hair and yanking hard. And he cried out in guttural screams Glorfindel’s name, over and over and over. The syllables descended into shattering nonsense.

Glorfindel was shocked to stillness at this extreme reaction a moment before he resumed the internal stroking and he bowed his head to take Erestor’s desperate need in his mouth and suck hard, bringing him to an exploding release.

= = = = =

Erestor woke some indeterminable time later to a wetness on his face. He blinked bleary eyes to see Glorfindel smiling gently at him. He was using a soapy warm cloth to wipe clean Erestor’s face of all that paint that he had worn. The golden Elf had already cleansed himself, but his arousal still stood out heavily from his body. He bent to kiss Erestor’s brow. “Time to wake, my lovely Nodnith.”

“I’m sorry,” Erestor said sheepishly in a wrecked voice. He began to sit up, but a firm hand to his corseted chest pushed him back to the furs, where he happily lay, letting Glorfindel wipe away the worst of the sweat and mess.

“No need to be sorry,” Glorfindel replied softly. “I worried about you there for a minute.”

Erestor smiled. “No need to worry. And Glorfindel,” he whispered, beckoning him closer, “I still want you to fuck me on this fur-lined bed.”

Glorfindel smiled. “We’ll get there,” he promised.

“Now,” Erestor pouted, grabbing the towel only to toss it aside and beckon Glorfindel onto the bed, bangled bracelets clanging.

The golden Elf willingly obeyed, crawling upon the thick and heavy furs until he was above Erestor, looking fondly down at him. “Are you sure?”

Erestor smacked his head. 

“Ow!”

Erestor dragged Glorfindel down to lay flush against him and he wrapped those long legs about strong and narrow hips. “I’ll beg, if you want me to,” Erestor whispered into a pointed ear.

Glorfindel shut him up with a kiss.

Then the golden Elf pulled away, and he re-oiled his shaft in careful preparation.

Erestor smiled and spread his legs and gestured Glorfindel forward.

Glorfindel smiled at the clean and beautiful face. Erestor was leering at him and so Glorfindel took those legs and pressed them back up against a corseted chest. Erestor huffed at the sudden move, but his eyes sparkled merrily and his arousal again began to grow.

With little effort, Glorfindel managed to push the head of his shaft into Erestor’s stretched hole, and he slowly shoved all the way in, glad to feel Erestor’s cock hard and long against his belly and still wanting him.

And then he did just what Erestor had requested: he gave the debauched Elf a brutal fucking, right into those soft and heavy furs.

= = = = =

They lay that night, wrapped in dark animal hides. Glorfindel awoke at one point to gently undo all those buckles and to loosen the crimson cording of the binding corset. Erestor awoke at the movement and sat up so that the thing could finally be removed.

Glorfindel gasped at the harsh red marks it had left on Erestor’s pale skin, and he bent his golden head to tenderly kiss each one.  
 Erestor laughed softly at him and wound a hand in golden hair to draw him up for a kiss.

Glorfindel pulled away only after much oral exploration to look into contented black eyes. “There’s something I want to tell you,” the Captain whispered.

“Oh,” Erestor replied distractedly. “Yes?”

“I . . . fancy you.”

Erestor burst out laughing and gave Glorfindel a sound thrashing with his pillow.


	7. Epilogue

Elrond continually smiled to himself and Celebrian could do nothing to rid the self-satisfied Elf of the damn smirk. He was quite proud to tell anyone who would listen that Glorfindel and Erestor hadn’t come out of hiding in three days.

When concerns were voiced, he assured them that Lindir was leaving a good amount of food just within the door.

= = = = =

Arwen waited far more patiently, and when Glorfindel and Erestor were finally seen, walking arm in arm down the corridor, she approached them and embraced them and smiled and said in Erestor’s ear, “I am glad you have found your own champion now, my Champion.”

And as for all the rest, the pair put up with the teasing and the laughter from their friends and companions. In fact, they joined in, and people quietly remarked that they had never seen Glorfindel shine quite so brightly, nor Erestor laugh quite so much.

= = = = =

And Erestor sang more. In fact, he was often heard singing these days.

“Give me your hand and we’ll take a walk  
We’ll take a walk together  
Give me your hand and we’ll take a walk  
My handsome bright-haired love

“Won’t you come with me and we’ll dance  
We’ll dance together  
Won’t you come with me and we’ll dance  
My handsome bright-haired love

“My beautiful bright-haired lad  
My handsome bright-haired lover  
O, let’s go together.”

And together they did walk and dance and love.

= = = = =

Life was good for the Captain and the Counselor.

Elrond was content. He had finally made the match that had seemed so determined to resist him.

But then one day, when there were foreign visitors, he leaned over to his wife and said in a marveling voice, “Do you see how Legolas is looking at—”

She turned to him and flatly said, “Don’t even think about it.”

= = = = =

The End


End file.
